The Adventures of Batman and Superman
by BecauseI'mBatman
Summary: Parody! AU-ish and definitely OOC! A series of one-shots between two unlikely friends with one odd friendship. Dedicated to Sexy Ascot!
1. NOT THE TUMMY!

**The Adventures of Batman and Superman**

**Disclaimer: Do not own; not making money off this.**

**A/N: Remember before you read this that this IS a parody. It is OOC and AU—well, kind of AU. **

**Dedicated to Sexy Ascot, the annoying Superman to my Batman! (;**

**Chapter One: NOT THE TUMMY!**

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><p>"BRUCEY!" a chipper voice called throughout the Watchtower.<p>

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He knows that voice.

_Do I need to get a bell for him!_

It's the voice that has been known to drive Bruce up the wall. The voice that almost makes him want to crawl under a rock for the rest of his life.

Almost.

But Bruce never cowers.

This voice though—this unnaturally chipper voice!—has Bruce wanting to run away and never return.

It's the voice of Clark Kent, Superman.

"BRUCEY, BRUCEY, BRUCEY!"

Bruce groans and bangs his head on the table in front of him.

The man of steel belonging to the voice enters the room then, clad in his Superman outfit, hovering over the ground as he moves like he sometimes does to show off. _Oh, sure._ Bruce thought. _Sure. Just continue to show off that you can defy gravity, like we all don't know that about you yet._

Clark had the annoying tendency to try to one-up him by bringing up the fact he could fly and Bruce was just a normal human.

Clark has a lot of annoying tendencies.

And Bruce has a feeling that this is going to be one of those days—the kind of days where Clark just can't help himself to go out of his way to annoy Bruce.

Perfect.

Just what he wanted.

One annoying Clark plus one aggravated Bruce equaled very bad outcomes.

_Here we go again,_ Bruce thought sadly.

"BRUCEY!" Clark called again. "Are you ignoring me? Brucey, why? Come on, Bruce. You know you can't ignore me for too long." He nudged Bruce's shoulder. The nudge wasn't meant to be hard, but it had enough force to move Bruce a good six inches. "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce! BRUCEY? BRUCEY, HAVE YOU GONE DEAF? BRUCEY!" He was yelling now.

Right in Bruce's ear.

He actually hadn't been deaf, but he feared he might be before the day was over.

"I can hear you," Bruce snarled.

"Oh," Clark responded. "BRUCEY!" he threw his arms around Bruce's Batsuit-clad shoulders. "It's been too long since we've had a nice, good friendly talk between us two, old buddy, old pal!" he declared, his arms firmly planted around Bruce, despite his struggles.

Bruce growled in response. _Where's the Kryptonite when I need it?_ He tried to get himself out of Superman's hold, but he was holding him too tightly. He was no match for super strength. _Yeah. Kryptonite would be good right about now. Where's Dick? Maybe he has some._

Bruce had no idea why Dick would have Kryptonite, but it could happen. Bruce had learned to expect anything over the years.

"Why are you wiggling so much? Why can't you ever hug me back? Brucey, hug me back! Right now!"

"Absolutely not!" Bruce growled in response. "I do not hug! Especially not you!"

"Aw, that hurts my feelings, Brucey. Come on, just a little squeeze?"

"Get. Off. Me!" He growled in his fiercest 'Angry-Bats' voice. It didn't seem to faze Clark.

"Bru-u-u-cey," Clark sang in his ear, dragging out the syllables.

"Clark, for god's sake! Get off me!"

"Say please."

"No."

"Then I refuse."

"Clark!"

"Say it."

Bruce snarled.

"Say it," Clark sang in a sing-song voice. "Say it, Brucey, say it!"

"You're insane, you damn—"

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't swear. It's unbecoming."

"For god's sake—Damn it, Clark! Get off!"

"I'm still not hearing a please."

"You're about to hear something and it's not going to be a goddamn please."

"Ouch," Clark said. "Someone is grumpy. Are you grumpy, Brucey?"

"Ye—No! I don't get 'grumpy'!"

"Are you sure? You seem grumpy."

"Do I? Maybe it's because some idiot won't get the hell off of me!"

"You are extremely rude today. What's wrong with you?"

Stubbornly, Clark's arms remained tightly around Bruce. There was no way out of this, and he knew it. Sighing, Bruce muttered, "Clark, get off me. _Please._" The last word was snarled, but Clark appeared to accept it, as he finally let Bruce go.

"Was that so hard?"

"Finally!" Bruce exclaimed, and jumped up out of his seat. "You insane, annoying creature! Can't you just leave?"

"Aw, but I've missed you, Brucey!"

"_My name is Bruce!_" he growled fiercely.

"Wow. Someone is sure testy today. Women trouble?"

Bruce couldn't take it anymore. He snapped. He grabbed a batarang from his utility belt and flung it at Clark. "Shiny!" Clark cried when he saw it coming towards him, and Bruce took advantage of the distraction. He made a break towards the door, but a blur of red and blue beat him to it. Just before Bruce had reached the door, Clark stood in front of it, grinning like an idiot.

"Are we playing tag now, Brucey? Who's it?"

Bruce skidded to a stop. _Yeah. Definitely need a bell for this one. And some Kryptonite._

An idea popped into his head. He wants to play tag, does he? Well. They'll play tag then. "Yeah, Clark. We're playing tag. I'm it."

"Oh! Okay!" And with that, Clark sped from the room, fast a lightning, giggling all the way.

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. Sweet solitude.

Ten minutes of silence later, Bruce was standing in the Watchtower's monitor room, watching the screens with a blank look on his face. He wasn't very interested, but he wasn't disinterested either.

He was watching a bit too intensely though, as he didn't notice the blue and red blur come in.

Said blur whirled in front of him and poked him in the stomach. "You're it!"

The poke was meant to be soft, but it felt more akin to a punch to Bruce. It caught him so off guard that his breath hitched and he fell backwards.

In a moment of slightly panic and temporary insanity, Bruce declared, "Not the tummy!" in a high-pitched voice.

Both men's eyes flew open at the statement. Bruce was just as surprised as Clark that he had uttered such a thing.

There was a silence following Bruce's announcement.

For a moment and a half.

Then Clark burst into laughter.

A full out, belly-deep guffaw.

He took it too far when he started rolling around on the floor, unable to help himself. "You—said—_tummy!_" he panted between laughs.

Bruce glared. Hard.

He was sorely tempted to kill him right then and there.

And he never killed.

Clark seems to bring this side out of him a lot.

"I can't believe you just said 'tummy'!" Clark exclaimed a little while later, when his hearty laughter calmed down enough so he could talk.

Bruce grabbed Clark forcefully by his collar and pulled him close—so close that they were nose-to-nose. He glared hard into his friend's mirth filled eyes. "I _swear_, Clark, you mention this to anyone, and you'll never talk again. I will rip your tongue out and put it in a jar for all to see what happens to those who spread lies about Batman!"

"But it's not a lie."

Bruce snarled and pulled him an inch closer; glare hardening—if that was even possible. "Not a word, Clark Kent!"

Clark's eyes widened and he nodded furiously. "Got it. Sorry. Won't tell a soul."

"Not. One."

"Not one. Got it. No problem."

"I mean it, Clark."

"I know. I won't. I promise."

"Good," Bruce said, and released the man of steel. Clark stepped back, forcing space between the angry Dark Knight and himself. That's one bat's buttons he definitely did not need to push anymore today. He liked his tongue very well, thanks.

"I'm going to bother Barry now!"

And with that, Superman was gone.

Bruce sighed in relief.

_Finally!_

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><p><strong>AN: I hope you like so far! I had fun writing it, LOL. It's my second multi-chapter fic and I'm not the best at multi-tasking so bear with me on the whole updating thing! I'll try to update next as soon as I can!**


	2. Want to Help Me Ground Robin?

**The Adventures of Batman and Superman**

**Disclaimer: Same as always: Do not own, will not own, and all that.**

**Author's Note: Remember guys… OOC and AU. Of course it'll be a little far-fetched and out of character. That's the definition of "OOC and AU" (: Also, warning: Daddy-Bats action going on in here! **

**Oh, and the Bold writing is the lines taken directly from the episode. **_**Italics**_** are Bruce's thoughts.**

****Chapter Two: Want to Help Me Ground Robin?****

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><p>"Hey, Bats, what're you doing?"<p>

Bruce held his hand towards Clark, palm facing forward, in a universal 'stop' gesture. Clark raised an eyebrow and stood next to Bruce's chair in front of the monitors. He quickly noticed Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad on the screen. In a slightly wary tone, he asked, "Why are you—?"

"Do you not understand how to shut up?" Bruce growled, his eyes not leaving the monitors. Whatever he was watching must be important if he's so bothered by Clark's presence. Of course, Bruce often got annoyed with Clark, though the latter rarely knew why. It wasn't as if he bothered him on purpose or anything.

"Yes, I do, but I'm just curious—"

"Well, stop."

"But—"

Bruce heaved a heavy sigh. "Alright! If you must know—"

"I must," Clark had to point out.

Bruce glared and continued, "—if you must know, I'm watching Dick disobey my direct orders."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Disobey you? And you're okay with this?"

"Of course not, Kent!" Bruce growled, obviously getting annoyed with all the questions. "I just want to see what he can do."

Clark snorted, muttering, "Daddy bats."

Batman tore his gaze off the screen and glared his fiercest glare at Clark. Naturally, Clark looked anywhere but at the angry bat.

"Is there something wrong with monitoring my son's activities, Kent?"

"What? No. You just… tend to be… overprotective of him."

Batman's glare increased, if that was even possible. "What are you saying here?"

"Nothing! Just the fact you're monitoring him is a little over the top, don't you think?"

"I don't see how," Bruce replied truthfully. "He doesn't even realize I'm doing it."

"Well… Yeah. That's my point. You're invading his privacy here. It's a little morally wrong."

Bruce snorted. "Yeah, well. I'm Batman; I can afford to be 'a little morally wrong' once in a while."

"Whatever you say."

Superman pulled up a chair next to Bruce and sat down. He propped his feet up on the table, leaning back in the chair with his hands interlocked behind his head, completely at ease. "What?" He asked at Bruce's 'what-in-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing?' look. Bruce didn't respond; only continued to question him with his expression. Clark sighed. "Well, I want to watch too!"

Batman's eyebrow rose so high it disappeared beneath his cowl. "Why?" he asked, rather suspiciously. Clark always had an ulterior motive when it came to doing things with Bruce—something that would often make him regret his friendship with the man of steel.

"Why not?"

_He's not going to leave,_ Bruce realized with a sigh. _Oh, well. Better make the best of it._

"Want to help me ground Robin?"

Clark smirked. "Turn up the volume, Batsy, and let's do this!"

* * *

><p>"<strong>What is project Cadmus?"<strong> Aqualad asked, looking at Robin as if expecting him to know—as if expecting Batman to have told him.

"**I don't know…," **Robin replied thoughtfully. Then a smirk graced his face and said, **"But I can find out."** He walked over to the computers and attempted to hack in.

"**Access denied,"** the computer told him.

Robin only laughed. **"Wanna bet?"**

"**Whoa. How are you doing that?" **Kid Flash asked, looking at the computer with surprise.

Like Kid Flash, Clark was surprised as well. "How—"

Bruce shushed him, staring intently at the screen.

"**Same system as the Batcave."**

"You taught him how to hack into the Batcave? And put the same system in our HQ?" Clark cried. "Did you _want_ him to hack us!"

"I did not teach him to hack into the Batcave," Bruce admitted. But he had a feeling who might have let it slip. Dick had good hacking skills in the first place, but it was probably Alfred's influence that taught him how to get into the Batcave's system.

"Then who—?" Superman started, but stopped half way through the question. Of course. Alfred. Who else could it be?

"Indeed," Bruce muttered in response to Clark's self-answered question. He pointed back to the screen, non-verbally ordering they get back to watching.

Now the two were watching the three younger sideki—erm, partners—discuss the case about project Cadmus.

"**But if Batman's suspicious, maybe we should investigate."** Robin suggested.

"**Solve their case before they do," **Aqualad replied. **"It **_**would**_** be poetic justice."**

"**Hey," **Robin chuckled. **"They're all about justice."**

Bother Bruce and Clark couldn't help but snort at that. Robin does have a wry sense of humor. "Good one," Clark muttered.

Aqualad heaved a dejected sigh. **"But they said stay put."**

"**For the blotting out the sun mission; not this," **Robin replied.

Kid Flash jumped in, **"Wait, are you going to Cadmus? Because if you're going, I'm going."**

Both boys turned back to Aqualad, hopeful smiles on their faces. **"Just like that? We're a team on a mission?"**

"**We didn't come for a play date."**

At Robin's declaration, all three got determined looks on their faces. Oh, yes, they were going to Cadmus, stay put or not.

"So that's how it happened," Batman mused.

"Seems like it."

"Robin's idea, I see."

"Looks that way," Clark replied.

"I don't know whether to be proud or annoyed. Obviously he's disobeyed me and that does not bode well with me, but he _is_ doing what I've trained him to do—fight the bad guys."

"Against your permission."

"True," Bruce agreed. He shrugged. "I'll let it slide for now. I'm sure he'll give me enough reasons to be annoyed throughout the rest of this mission."

"Of course. He wouldn't be your son if he didn't," Clark decided. Bruce cast him a glower, but didn't respond. He was too focused on the screens again.

"**So smooth," **Robin commented dryly as he watched Kid Flash hang onto the window of the Cadmus building tightly.

"**Does he always have to run ahead? We need a plan. We—"** Aqualad looked towards Robin, but didn't see him. He cast a look around, but his friend was nowhere in sight. **"Robin?"**

Robin's distinct laugh could be heard in the distance as he raced up to the building to help Kid flash up.

"Does he always laugh like that? In Gotham as your partner? Or is it only on these missions?" Superman asked.

Bruce just shrugged. "It wouldn't be Robin without his laugh."

They watched as Aqualad had to help the victims trapped in the building to get out of there by himself. When he entered the room his other two teammates were in, he sarcastically shot at Robin, who was bent over a computer screen no doubt to hack into, **"Appreciate the help."**

"**You handled it," **Robin dismissed. **"Besides, we're here to investigate. Poetic justice, remember?"**

Bruce growled.

"What? What is it?"

Bruce shook his head. _Nothing, _he thought, _Just the fact that my partner completely disregarded the people in need of help!_ He knew Dick was young and bound to be rash and make mistakes, but Bruce didn't like it.

Not at all.

It was that kind of thing he was afraid would get his son killed one day.

And probably give him as much gray hair as Alfred has.

Perfect.

He turned his attention back at the screen, just in time to watch Robin rush down an express elevator on his rope while leaving his two teammates behind. Though it might be something the Dark Knight would do himself, Bruce didn't have to like it. He growled in annoyance again.

When it was the two of them working in Gotham, each of them had their own rope to climb. But in Robin's situation, he was the only one to have a way to get down there and he just assumed his teammates would follow. Not even a 'after me!' or anything from him. No, just silence and assumption.

This kid really was beginning to become like him.

Perhaps that's why Bruce is being so picky—he doesn't want Dick to be like him. He loves Dick; more than he expected a man like him would love a child, and certainly doesn't want him to follow exactly in Bruce's footsteps. Every parent wants better for their child, and Bruce is no exception. Dick deserved to be better than Bruce; he deserved to be his own person and work against crime with his own methods. But, Bruce supposed, that's the cost of being a mentor—having your partner follow precisely in your footsteps, pick up your methods, until they decide to fly from the nest and spread their wings into working solo missions.

Like Speedy.

God, but Bruce hoped Dick doesn't turn into Speedy soon. While, yes, he wants him to be his own person, and not just like Batman, he's not entirely ready for Dick to go into solo missions so early. Of course, Dick's only thirteen, but if he had followed Speedy's example today… Bruce started to shudder just thinking about it.

With his emotions conflicting, Bruce does know one thing—he wants to hold onto his little bird a little longer.

But not at the risk of Dick becoming just like him.

_Ugh, _Bruce groaned mentally, _these emotions are too confusing. _He pushed them aside from now to deal with later; right now he needed to watch his bird fly into a mission without his permission.

And then ground his little bird for the rest of his life.

Yes, that sounds good.

Bruce was brought out of his thoughts by hearing the Robin on screen say, **"Okay, I'm officially whelmed."**

"What is with him and this whelmed thing?" Clark asked Bruce, though he doubted even he knew the answer.

He didn't. He only shrugged. "It's Dick."

"Good point."

They watched in silence as the three discussed the genomes and Robin continued to hack into something else called 'Project Kr'. Just as he started to complain about the tripled encrypted files, he was interrupted.

"**Don't move!"**

Superman groaned. "Why? Why do they get interrupted at all the good parts?"

"I'm sure you'll get your answer soon enough."

Bruce swore he could almost see a pout on Clark's face. "I want to know now."

"Patience." _Is he always this childish? Even Dick doesn't whine this much._

They put their attention back on the screen, watching the fight break out between Kid Flash, Robin, Aquaman, and the genomes. Robin, of course, thought quickly, and created a smoke shield. Bruce almost smiled in pride, until he saw Robin dash ahead and use his hacking skills to break into the elevator while leaving his teammates behind to deal with the genomes.

"No!" Bruce growled at the screen, as if Robin could hear him.

"He can't hear you."

"I know that!" Bruce snarled back.

Clark just sat back in his chair, backing down against the angry bat. "I'm only pointing it out."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Bruce said sarcastically. "Honestly. Should change your name to that, too."

"Or not."

Bruce ignored his remark and looked back at the screen. Aqualad and Kid Flash were fighting well against their enemy, but Bruce could care less. He was looking over to Robin to watch what he did. Personally, he could care less what the others did—he was looking for things he and Robin needed to have a little chat about—man-to-man, bat-to-bird—when this whole thing was over.

Kid Flash and Aqualad now sped up behind Robin as he did his hacking thing, Kid Flash snarling, **"Way to be a team player, **_**Rob.**_**"**

"**Weren't you right behind me?"** Robin asked innocently, though everyone—including the two silent onlookers—knew he was putting up a guiltless façade.

Once the three were in the elevator, Aqualad asked, surprised, **"We're heading down?"**

"**Dude, out is **_**up,**_**" **Kid Flash said, pointing a finger upwards for emphasis.

Robin narrowed his eyes. **"Excuse me? Project Kr? It's **_**down,**_** on sub-level fifty-two."**

"**This is out of control,"** Aqualad declared, pushing the two apart and stepping between them before an argument broke out. He rubbed his hand on the back of his head, thinking. **"Perhaps… Perhaps we should contact the League."**

"Yes!" Batman exclaimed, nearly jumping from his seat. "Yes you should! Right now!"

"Again, can't hear you."

"Again, _shut up_!"

The elevator door opened and Robin ran out, not giving either of his teammates any time to decide to call the League in. Aqualad looked at Kid Flash for some sort of explanation, but he only shrugged, **"We are already here," **and followed behind Robin.

The adults watched in silence as they nearly avoided another large fight with more genomes and quickly entered the door to where Project Kr is hidden.

"**Whoa,"** the three breathed when they looked at what Kid Flash had been referring to.

A perfect clone of Superman stood in a little pod, clad in a white shirt with the red signature 'S' on the front.

Beside him, Clark swallowed hard. "Oh…my…god."

Bruce was just as stunned. "A clone?"

"_My _clone?"

"He looks," Batman paused, cocking his head towards the side a little as if to get a better look on the new clone, "as if he's your son."

Clark shot him a glare. "He is not my son. He is a clone."

"No need to be so hostile about it, Clark."

"I'm not his father," Superman huffed with venom.

"Why do you seem so opposed to it? Being a father is not so bad. I should know. I was always against it and in came Dick. Now look at me. I'm invading my son's privacy while watching his first mission he's gone on without me, while disobeying my direct orders."

Clark snorted. "That's all good and peachy, but this clone is not my son."

"Clark—"

"No!" Superman yelled.

"You're great with kids—Dick's always loved his 'Uncle Clark'."

"Look!" Clark pointed at the screen, effectively distracting Bruce.

During their argument, the three boys had decided to contact the league. _Finally,_ Bruce thought and stood up to go retrieve the call. But Aqualad's voice stopped him when he said, **"No signal."**

"**We're in too deep—literally." **Kid Flash said.

"Shouldn't we help them?" Superman asked.

Batman shrugged as he returned to his seat. "It would be the right thing, I suppose. But shouldn't we also give them the chance to prove themselves?"

"Or get themselves sincerely hurt."

"Well, they did disobey orders. It would be a lesson to them. I don't think they'll get to hurt, though. They know how to handle themselves."

"But they are only children."

Bruce sighed. "Right. We'll watch and if we think we need to step in, we'll call in the rest of the League. For now I'm giving them the chance."

Clark snorted, muttering, "You just need another excuse to ground Dick."

"He disobeyed orders!"

"I know."

"He knows how important it is to follow orders."

"I know."

"So naturally I want to know what else he does wrong that we need to work on."

"Naturally."

"You don't believe a word I'm saying, do you?"

"Nope."

"I swear, Kent. You're the most annoying creature on this planet."

"Where did _that_ come from? We were talking about Dick and now I'm being insulted?"

"I felt like you needed to know."

Clark rolled his eyes in response. He didn't have a comeback to that.

While the two were having their playful and not-so-playful argument, Aqualad, Robin, and Kid Flash had released Superboy and he was now attacking them.

"Oh," Bruce groaned as he watched Robin try to stun Superboy. He knew from personal experience with Clark that that did not work very well. Superboy grabbed the cords and flung Robin to him, pushing him to the ground and placing a foot atop his chest. "No, get up! Get up!"

"He still can't—"

"Tell me he can't hear me one more time and see what happens."

Clark wisely shut his mouth. Bruce was in his Daddy-bats mode, and didn't need to be disturbed.

"No, no!" Bruce shouted at the screen. "Don't you dare fall down! Get up!"

"I don't think he can."

"Of course he can! He and I have trained much harder than that before. He's got to be able to get up!"

He watched as the rest of the fight ensued, carefully keeping his eyes trained on Robin and his non-moving body. _If that boy doesn't get himself up in the next two minutes, I'll kill him,_ Bruce thought. He had a bad feeling about this—they were going to get caught and captured and he knew it.

_Get up, Dick!_

But Dick was not responding to his inner plea. Bruce couldn't help but groan. Perhaps he _should_ have intervened.

No, it's their mission, no matter how they went around doing it. They need to fulfill their mission and afterwards…

Well, afterwards, Dick was never going to see the light of day again if Bruce had anything to say about it.

"**Quit staring, you're creeping me out!" **Kid Flash yelled at Superboy from his pod.

Robin intervened, **"Uh, KF, how about we not tick off the guy who can fry us with a look?"**

_Oh, he's not going to be the only one frying you with a look, Robin,_ Batman thought angrily. To get himself captured was just plain stupid! And reckless!

While Aqualad tried reasoning with Superboy and Kid Flash was being his ever annoyed self, Bruce watched Robin find the lock pick in his glove. _Good boy,_ Bruce thought. _Get the lock pick, get out, and stop scaring me half to death._

Time seemed to drag on as Bruce ignored the conversation between the three, waiting for Robin to bust his way out. What is taking so long? How hard is it to pick a lock? From personal experience, Bruce knew it need not take so long. What is the hold up?

Just then, Robin declared, **"Pass! Batcave's crowded enough,"** to the order of activating the cloning process. Bruce blinked out of his stupor, and the corner of his mouth twitched the tiniest bit into a smile. "He's always complaining that the Batcave isn't big enough—when in fact, it's almost as big as the manor."

Clark snorted. "Oh, Dick."

"Oh, Dick, indeed."

Superman and Batman continued to watch in glorified horror for the three, wanting to know just how they'll get themselves out of this mess. The cloning process started and they watched, wincing, as the three were shocked into giving their DNA. Bruce hated seeing Dick in pain, but it _was_ his own fault. _If he had escaped…_

A few moments later, Superboy burst back into the room, pushing the three offenders out of his way while he went to un-trap the three in the pods.

"**You here to help us or fry us?" **Kid Flash asked, ever being the tactful one.

Superboy narrowed his eyes at him, but then smiled a moment later. **"Huh. I don't seem to have heat vision so I suppose helping is my only option."**

The hissing noise of the locks un-doing was heard on the left side of the room, and Robin hopped out of his pod, moaning, **"Uh! Finally! Lucky Batman **_**isn't**_** here; he'd have my head for taking so long!"**

"**Seriously? That's what you're worried about?"**Kid Flash asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Superman looked at Batman's smirking face, rolling his eyes. "I wonder how he'll feel when he knows you heard that comment."

"Doesn't matter; he'll be too worried about the fact I really _am_ going to have his head for that."

"**The whole League will have our heads after tonight!" **Kid Flash continued.

Robin's only reply was to turn to Superboy and order, **"Free Aqualad. I'll get **_**Kid Mouth.**_**"**

"Kid Mouth," Superman snorted. "There's a fitting description."

"I agree."

Bruce paused. Did he actually agree with Superman? Well. There's a first.

He decided to ignore it and pretend that never happened.

A few minutes later after some intense fighting, Bruce and Clark watched as the young team barely made it out of the elevator without getting squashed. _We'll have to talk about that too,_ Bruce thought. He was positive Dick lingered a little bit just to show off. Dick sometimes did that at his age.

Teenagers.

Bruce hated them.

The team ended up in the air vents, crawling around to find an exit. The bad guys were after them, thinking they had them in their clutches only to be thwarted. Robin proudly declared, **"I hacked the motion sensors,"** as an explanation to his team.

Kid Flash took that as a signal to stretch his legs a bit and run up several flights of stairs with his speed. The other three followed at their own quick pace, but not nearly as fast as Kid Flash. He was a speedster after all.

They attempted to escape, but their plan was thwarted once again.

As the monster and Superboy flew through the ceiling, the rest of the team following, Bruce decided it was time to call upon the league. "Let's get down there. They'll probably have it wrapped up by the time we get there, but let's go now in case they need our help. Also, don't let on that we watched the mission."

"Why not? Too morally wrong for you?"

"I'd rather not have an angst-filled teenager on my hands."

Clark nodded in understanding and stood up from his chair, stretching his limbs. "That was good entertainment. Too bad there was no popcorn."

Bruce rolled his eyes, snorting. "You're welcome to bring some next time."

"Next time? Will there be a next time?"

Bruce just chuckled. "Of course. I'll need you to help me ground Robin."

"That poor kid."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know Bruce and Clark are extremely different than they were in the first chapter, but it's a series of one-shots so it's all good. :D The whole thing is basically an inside joke between friends and I-sort of-so yeah. But I hope you enjoyed it anyway!**


	3. What's Wrong With The World?

**The Adventures of Batman and Superman**

**Disclaimer: I own. Okay, so I lied. I own nothing.**

**A/N: Again, I'm going to remind you: AU & OOC. For those of you who don't know what that means—if there is any—I'll clarify: Alternate Universe and Out Of Character. Keep that in mind. (: Italics are Bruce's thoughts, by the way.**

**Chapter Three: What's Wrong With The World?**

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><p>Bruce Wayne leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the table top, and rested his folded hands behind his head as he pretended to pay attention to the meeting around him. He was doing some work in Orlando, Florida for Wayne Enterprises. Normally he'd make any excuse not to attend, but thanks to the ever helpful Alfred, his schedule suddenly cleared up when the week's worth of meetings was called. "It's your company, Master Bruce," Alfred said, in his annoying all-knowing kind of way, "You need to attend."<p>

Sometimes Alfred really needed to keep his opinions to himself—especially when he's right.

So Bruce ended up here in a conference room in Florida attending a week long's session of meetings—although, really, he wasn't actually there at all. Sure, his body was present, but Bruce's mind kept wandering. Today was his last meeting, thank goodness, and Bruce couldn't help but be excited.

Except there was one thing in the back of his mind, nagging him.

When his ward—his son, really, though not officially—Richard Grayson found out he was going to Orlando, near Disney World, Bruce had been bombarded with requests. "You have to bring me something back!" Dick had demanded. "Will you bring me a souvenir? Please, Bruce, please? I've never been to Disney World!" And between that and Alfred answering for him "Of course Master Bruce will bring something back for you" tied with a very pointed look shot Bruce's way, he couldn't refuse.

_The things I do for people, _Bruce grumbled to himself in his mind.

What he was going to buy Dick, he had no idea. Bruce didn't do Disney; he had no idea what to buy a thirteen year old kid who has never been to the parks.

Bruce couldn't help but debate on just bringing him here himself. It certainly would be easier for Dick to find a souvenir on his own, but with their Batman and Robin duties a vacation seemed out of the question.

_Damn you, Alfred, for getting me into this, _Bruce thought. _This is why I avoid meetings._

He didn't want to get the wrong thing for Dick, but he also didn't know what the right thing was. Truly, Bruce was at a loss.

Bruce rarely was stumped.

He almost picked up the phone and called Dick. Surely he could figure this out easier than Bruce could, but Bruce also knew he probably shouldn't do that. He wanted to surprise Dick with the souvenir, not just pick something up specifically requested.

Well, maybe he'll just have to hit the souvenir shops and see what's out there.

Great. Shopping. This ought to be fun.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, the meeting was finally adjourned. Bruce never felt so happy to be out of a meeting. Had it been a meeting for Batman, he'd have enjoyed it. This week's worth of meetings was just downright painful for him, though.<p>

He left the conference room swiftly, and jumped into his car in front of the building. On about every single block there's a souvenir shop. How many shops does one state need? They probably all sell the same things, yet there are six hundred of them.

Parking the car in front of a randomly chosen shop, he stepped out of the car and walked inside.

And, of course, with his luck, he just had to choose one of the biggest shops on the block. The building itself was wide and lengthy, but it also had an upstairs! A second floor! What kind of store is this—a souvenir version of Wal-mart?

He walked aimlessly for a few minutes, idly looking over the merchandise, still at a complete loss. His eyes fell upon the tee-shirt section and his eyes lit up. Tee-shirts! Who could go wrong with shirts?

Bruce made his way over there, but stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on a red and blue shirt with the unmistakable symbol of Superman that he knew so well.

A _Superman_ shirt? They sell those? And people actually _buy _them?

What has this world come to?

Well, if there's Superman merchandise, there has to be Batman… With that thought, Bruce walked around the shirt section of the store as if he was on a mission, determined to find anything Batman related. He reached the superhero section, and smiled to himself. _I'm in here somewhere, _he thought to himself as he fingered through the items. _Somewhere…_

As he continued to pick through the products, he came across several things—Green Lantern, Superman, and even Spiderman—but no Batman.

What kind of store doesn't sell Batman goods?

_I'm suing,_ Bruce grumbled to himself as he left the store. Forget this place; maybe there will be better stuff at the next one.

He drove across the street to another souvenir shop, only to come across several more Superman things. There was Superman tee-shirts, Superman magnets, and even baby clothes with the Superman symbol on its chest.

No Batman whatsoever.

_Next one,_ Bruce thought and returned back to his car.

He visited three more places, again only finding Superman retail. "What the hell!" He yelled as he held up yet another Super-baby outfit. "What's wrong with the world!" He then let out a string of creative swear words. The cashier sent him a dirty look for the use of profanities, but Bruce ignored it.

_One last _store, Bruce told himself as he left good-for-nothing souvenir shop. _If there is nothing here, I'm giving up._

He entered a promising looking store a couple of blocks over than the last one. It was small, crushed in between a grocery store and a fast food place. Bruce entered hesitantly, hoping beyond hope he'd seen no Superman things. He walked around, so far so good, spotting nothing of the famous red and blue symbol.

He sighed in relief. _That's better,_ he thought, _a Clark-free store. _He turned to go back to shopping for Dick and found himself face-to-face with a stack of plush sharks. Above them, it read, "'Fish are friends, not food!' Take Bruce home today!" and the fine print held the copyright of the movie Finding Nemo.

_Bruce the shark? _He thought. _Well, that's better than nothing, right? _He picked up the plush toy and stuffed it under his arm. Dick might be a little too old for stuffed animals, but come on! Its name is Bruce.

Maybe he'll get him both the shark and a trip to Disney World…

He turned towards the check-out, only to run straight into a rack of clothing. A blue and red rack of clothing. _Oh, come on,_ he thought angrily as he picked up the Superman shirt. _Really? _

Who ordered all the Superman products to be here? A certain man of steel came to Bruce's mind, but no… Clark would never influence a state to have Superman merchandise, would he?

_Who am I kidding? Of course he would._

No wonder there was no Batman items.

Bruce whipped out his cell phone, flipped it open, and quickly dialed a number. It only rang twice, and before the person on the other side of the line could even answer with a simple 'hello?', Bruce snarled, "CLARK!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I just went on vacation to Florida and was extremely disappointed I couldn't find any Batman things. There were loads of Marvel characters, but no DC… Except for Superman. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Sorry for the shortness! <strong>


	4. Blah, blah—Wait, WHAT?

**The Adventures of Batman and Superman**

**Disclaimer: Blah, blah, don't own; blah, blah, not making money off this. **

**Author's Note: I know. It's been a while. What can I say; writer's block had overcome my life. I'm slowly breaking myself out of it though, don't worry. I'm going to remind you once again (as it's been quite some time between updates) that this is OOC and a **_**parody. **_**Mmkay, now that's clear, let us begin. **

**This kind of switches POVs between Bruce and Clark (When I should be keeping it on Bruce, but sometimes I have to use Clark to gauge his reactions well xD). Bear with me now. **

**Chapter Four: Blah, blah—Wait, WHAT?**

* * *

><p>"An 'A<em> minus<em>'?"

"Bruce—" a hesitant voice started.

"Don't you 'Bruce' me!" came the snapped reply. "You said you were doing better!"

"I just don't understand this Algebra! When am I ever going to use it in my life?"

"When _aren't_ you going to use it?"

"Oh, I don't know, _fighting crime_?"

"You don't know that! What if all of a sudden, you're facing the Algebra Man and have to figure out an algebra problem or he'll blow up Gotham City?"

"The _Algebra Man_?" Dick questioned. "Is that the best you can—?"

"_Just answer the question_!" Bruce snarled in reply.

"Obviously, I'll call you!"

Outside the dining room, where the rather heated conversation was taking place, Clark and Alfred were standing in the doorway. Clark watched in awe at his best friend (though, Bruce always denied it, claiming they were only 'colleagues') and his son (ward, really, but as far as he was concerned they were father and son) argue it out over—an A minus on a math paper?

Out of the corner of his mouth, Clark whispered to Alfred, "Are they always like this?"

Alfred nodded, his eyes stuck on the duo's argument like glue. He was like a child in a candy store watching them hash it out, Clark noticed, and didn't seem like he was going to step in any time soon.

"Bruce?" he called out hesitantly and softly, as if he was afraid of what Bruce's reaction might be.

Which, he was.

"_What_?" he growled, spinning on his heel. "What could you possibly want?"

"I, uh, came to ask you a question about—"

"Can't you see I'm busy here!" He cut over Clark, gesturing to Dick and the offending paper.

"Well, yes, but—"

Before he could continue, Dick stepped forward and demanded, "Will you tell Bruce how pointless Algebra is?"

"Uh, well—"

"Don't!" Bruce cut him off, throwing his hand out towards Clark in a 'stop' motion. He turned to Dick. "We _just_ went over this. Algebra is very important—"

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is!"

Two pairs of stubborn, determined blue eyes stared at each other, both unwilling to bend in the slightest on their argument.

Silence filled the room, no one daring to speak. It was disconcerting, watching father and son have a battle of wills and their faithful butler watching from the doorway. Offhandedly, Clark wondered just what went on in this house when he wasn't visiting.

"I can come back later," he offered. "Yeah, I think I'll just do that—"

Bruce, his eyes never leaving Dick's, pointed at him and growled, "Stop." Clark stopped. Bruce pointed at one of the chairs of the dining room table. "Sit." Not willing to disagree with Bruce when he was in this demanding state, Clark sat. "Stay."

"Now you're treating me like a dog," he accused.

He didn't reply. Instead, Bruce grabbed Dick by the shoulders and led him to the seat next to Clark, pushing him into it. Once he was sitting, Bruce slammed the paper on the table and snarled at Clark, "You talk to him."

He settled himself across from the rather stunned two, kicking his feet up on the table and leaning back in the chair, his hands intertwined behind his head.

He ignored the bored look from Dick and the grimace from Clark. He didn't care what they thought about the arrangement, as long as the grade on Dick's next paper was an A _plus. _

Alfred excused himself to start his cleaning rounds around the manor—or something; Bruce wasn't really paying attention when he left.

Instead, his mind was elsewhere, stray thoughts floating around his head like a swarm of bees. It was rare—_extremely_ rare—for him to have a chance to sit back and relax. Unless, of course, he was in a business meeting for Wayne Tech; at those times he liked to catch up on much needed sleep.

To not think about anything Batman related, or even Bruce Wayne related, was sort of—dare he say it?—_nice._ For once in his life, Bruce actually felt like something was going normally. Calmly. Peacefully.

He wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Alfred had often called him an adrenaline junkie. Perhaps he was, perhaps not, but what he did know was it isn't so bad to unwind a bit every once in a while.

He even vaguely listened to the discussion between Clark and Dick: "_Blah, blah, blah Algebra talk… blah, blah, blah powers…"_

Wait.

_Powers?_

Bruce shot up from his chair, completely snapped out of his trance now, and stalked over to Clark, a foreboding glare on his face. "_What_ did you say?"

Clark stuttered, surprised at the sudden anger on Bruce's features. "Uh—we were just—"

"Talking about _powers_, were you?"

"Well, yes, we were, in fact—"

"How _dare _you!" Bruce roared, making Clark flinch at the intensity of his voice.

"Bruce, I-I don't know what you're so mad about—"

Bruce cut over him, snarling, "_Don't know_?"

"No, I don't! I was just doing as you asked—no, _demanded_—of me! What's the problem?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes, setting his fiercest bat-glare upon his friend—uh, colleague—and bent down into his personal space until they were almost touching noses. From the corner of his eye, he could see Dick watching them with a mix of both interest and a little apprehension, too. "'What's the problem'? 'What's the _problem_'? Do you want to know what the problem is, Clark?"

"Well, that's kind of why I asked—"

Again, Bruce cut him off. "You just _have _to hold it against me that I have no powers, don't you? DON'T YOU!"

"What? No, that's not what I was talking about—"

Bruce didn't allow him to continue, now entering a full-blown tirade and practically oozing with rage. "Well, we can't all be aliens from another planet, Clark! Or should I call you Kal-El? That _is _your name, isn't it?" He slammed his fist down on the table. "It's not _my _fault I don't have any powers. It's not _my _fault I'm _human._ It's not _my _fault my parents died when I was eight years old. And it's not _my _fault crime raves around in my hometown like a hungry animal and I'm the only one who's trying to take a stand against it! It's not _my _fault, Clark! So _stop_ holding it against me that I don't have any damn POWERS!"

With that final statement, Bruce turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving a confused Dick and an even more confused—and slightly chagrined—Clark behind.

"What's _his_ problem?" Dick wondered aloud.

Clark shook his head, staring at the doorway Bruce just exited from in horrified awe.

"Was that Master _Bruce_ I just heard throwing a temper tantrum in here?" Alfred asked, popping his head in from the other entrance to the dining room on the opposite side of where Bruce just left.

Unable to speak, Clark only nodded.

"What set him off?" he wondered, sitting down at the table next to the other two and looking like a teenage girl about to hear some juicy gossip.

Dick shrugged. "We were just talking about exponents…"

Comprehension dawned on Alfred's face, and he let out a groan. "Oh, no, not powers… You _know_ he's sensitive to that topic." He let out a long suffering sigh. "He must be sulking in the Cave now as we speak."

Dick moaned. "He'll be down there for hours training, and lots of it."

"At least he hasn't made you train with him this time," Clark offered, trying to look on the upside. A brooding Bruce was something no one liked; Dick most especially. Whenever Bruce got sulky enough, he began to train, and would often drag Dick down with him. Needless to say, Dick's muscles were very sore after these long sessions spent with Bruce and his difficult training techniques.

Suddenly, Dick's cell phone began to vibrate. He ran to check it, only to groan in response to the text message he received.

"What is it?" Clark asked, concerned.

"You speak too quickly, Clark," was all the reply Dick gave as he headed down towards the Batcave.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I don't know how I feel about this, LOL. I'm just happy to have finally updated **_**something. **_**(:**


	5. The Stubbornness of a Bat

**The Adventures of Batman and Superman**

**Disclaimer: Same as always.**

_**Italics **_**are Bruce's thoughts.**

**A/N: Yeah, this is what happens when I injure myself. I turn into a fic. **

**Chapter Five: The Stubbornness of a Bat**

* * *

><p>"Bruce, I swear," the British man said exasperatedly as he leaned over his employer's—and practically his son's—propped up left leg. He didn't even bother to add the "Master" in front of the younger man's name; he had taken care of him since childhood, he had the right to call him 'Bruce' when he was annoyed. He gently picked up his left leg and gently felt around the ankle.<p>

Bruce, in despite of himself, hiss and was instantly annoyed that he showed his pain.

Alfred, ever the expert when it came to Master Bruce, noticed. "It _is_ okay to show emotion sometimes, you know."

The only indication Bruce gave that he heard him was a roll of his eyes.

He attempted to roll the ankle around a bit, but Bruce instantly broke into another sharp hiss, this one more painful than the previous. Alfred sighed. "You've done a right good job at banging yourself up this time."

"I tripped," Bruce instantly rose to a defense tone. "It's an honest mistake."

"Yes, and now you've damaged your ankle again."

Bruce rolled his eyes again, but he knew Alfred was right. About a month ago, Bruce had a similar encounter with his ankle. He had been distracted and his landing was completely off. As soon as his foot hit the ground, his ankle gave out and thus he had twisted it. He had stood up like a man and continued fighting, but Alfred had chewed him out once he was home with a swollen ankle.

He took it good naturedly, though he really didn't think Alfred had cause to fault him. It wasn't like he hurt himself intentionally.

Recently, though, the ankle had been proving to be a problem again. If hit in the right spot, the injury would reignite and sharp shards of pain would shoot from his ankle all the way up his leg. It was painful, to say the least, but he never said anything about it. He wouldn't complain about pain; no, not Bruce. He took pain like a man, silently and stoically. It's how he worked best. Alfred found it extremely aggravating, he'd been told on numerous occasions, and didn't like to see the man he considered a son in pain.

Tonight, though, he had made an amateur mistake. He almost wanted to kick himself for it, but that would mean he'd cause more unnecessary pain he didn't need right now.

He'd tripped.

_Tripped._

The Batman _tripped_ and twisted his damned ankle.

And he wasn't ashamed to admit (to his innermost self, anyway) that it indeed hurt like a damn bitch. He didn't have any other way to describe it; it just plain _hurt._

But would he let it show? No, of course not. This was the stoic and stubborn Bruce Wayne. Why would he ever show he was in pain? His pride wouldn't allow it.

Sometimes he cursed his pride. Perhaps if he had less of it, he'd allow others to help him. Alfred often said his "bloody pride will be the death of you, Master Bruce". Sometimes, Bruce can't help but wonder if he's right. Then he remembers this is Alfred he's thinking about, and he's often right much to Bruce's annoyance.

He whimpered a bit as Alfred gently felt the swollen limb. It hurt more than he remembered a twisted ankle did. Perhaps it was sprained? God, he hoped not. Batman couldn't stop over a sprained ankle, after all.

Alfred's eyebrows rose at the whimper. He knew Bruce well, and he had to been in real pain to allow himself the "luxury" of a whimper, as he would put it. Deciding to choose a method he used when Bruce was a child and had hurt himself, he asked, "Bruce, on a scale from one to ten, how much do you hurt?"

Bruce glared. He remembered very clearly that that particular question was something he used to ask when he was younger. He was _not_ a child anymore; therefore he shouldn't be treated like one.

"Zero," he answered confidently; more confidently than he felt. If he was being honest with himself, he'd probably give the aching in his ankle a nine-point-eight, possibly a nine-point-nine. It was definitely not a ten, though, because there's always room for improvement—even when it comes to pain.

Alfred chuckled humorlessly. "I know you better than that. Be honest with me."

"I'm fine, Alfred," he insisted. "Thanks for patching me up, but I'm absolutely fine." He hadn't even been patched up yet, only inspected.

"You are not bloody fine!" Alfred shouted. "You know I _hate_ it when you're stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn," he said indignantly.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You most certainly are and you know it."

Bruce copied his gesture and rolled his own eyes. "Yes, Alfred," he replied dully, though he really didn't mean it. _Anything to stop him from nitpicking in my business_.

Suddenly, a soft rustling came from the other end of the Batcave. Both men heard it and turned to look in that direction. There stood—more like _hovered, _the show-off—Superman donned in his regular blue and red uniform. Bruce himself was in his Batsuit, though without the cowl or his left boot.

"Clark," Alfred greeted, relief evident in his voice. "Perhaps you can talk some sense into him."

"Me?" Clark asked incredulously. "Talk sense into _Bruce_? Have you _met_ me? Or Bruce for that matter? No one can convince him of anything."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I'm right here, you know."

"Good, then I hope you were listening. You have to be the most stubborn person on the planet. On _any_ planet."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Boy Scout."

Now it was Clark's turn to roll his eyes. "What's he being stubborn about this time, Alfred?"

"He's bloody hurt himself again," Alfred informed. "Twisted his ankle pretty badly."

Clark clucked his tongue. "Maybe if you weren't _human_…"

"Oh, bite me, alien." Bruce scowled.

"Orphan."

"You're an orphan, too."

"But I've got Ma and Pa."

"And I have Alfred, but they're just substitutes."

Clark looked thoughtful for a moment, but then he relented. "Touché."

Alfred, having left the room during the argument, returned back with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water in his hands. He walked over to Bruce and shoved it into his face. "Take two," he ordered.

"I keep telling you I'm fine, Alfred."

"Take two and then go lie down. I don't want you on that ankle."

"But I'm fine—"

"Bruce Wayne," the butler said sternly, getting into his employer's personal space. "Don't make me ground you."

"You do know I'm a grown man, right?"

"That's not going to stop me."

Bruce sighed, and took the bottle and glass reluctantly. "As long as it shuts you up." He quickly swallowed the pills and washed it down with the cold water.

"Thank you," Alfred said cheerily, taking the bottle and glass back. "Clark, you make sure he stays off his ankle. I have a house to clean." With that, the butler was gone.

"Bossy, isn't he?" Bruce asked rhetorically. He limped his way towards the monitoring system.

"What are you doing?" Clark asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Walking."

"Alfred just said—"

"Alfred can go to hell," the irritable man replied. He didn't actually mean his harsh words, but he was annoyed with both himself and his injury. It's not like Alfred had heard him, anyway.

"Bruce," Clark started. "I really think you should get off your ankle."

"And I will," he agreed. "Once I'm sitting in front of my monitors."

"No, I think you should rest."

Bruce snorted. "Rest? Are you joking?"

"You're hurt."

"So?"

"So, you should stay off your injury before you make it worse."

Bruce ignored him. After all, what did he know? He was just an alien. He didn't know anything about human injuries, the lucky bastard.

He sat down in front the monitor screens and began typing away. He was looking for any suspicious activity in Gotham. Though his ankle hurt like hell, he didn't want the criminals of his city to take advantage of his injury. If anything was going on he'd have to take care of it, simple as day. This was his city, and he was its protector.

As he scanned the screens, it suddenly went black. Bruce's eyes narrowed and he turned his fiercest glare towards Superman. Just as he expected, he was standing by the monitoring system's power outlet. "Did you just unplug my system?"

"You're injured and you need to get some rest so you can heal," Clark insisted. "Take the night off."

"There is no night off," Bruce snarled, getting really annoyed now. "Plug it back in before I kick your ass!"

Clark sighed, and then crossed his arms over his chest, a challenging look on his face. "Go for it. See how it works out for you."

Forgetting his injury, Bruce jumped up from his seat and started to make his way towards Clark. The moment his foot touched the ground and his body weight rested on the bad ankle, he hissed and quickly grabbed onto his chair for support, getting pressure off his injured limb.

"See what I mean? You can barely stand on that thing, let alone fight."

"Sorry I'm not indestructible," Bruce spat, rubbing circles around his swollen limb. "We're not all aliens."

"You always hold it against me that I'm an alien."

"_You_ always hold it against _me_ that I'm human," he returned.

"Well you are! You're fragile, and you really need to stop and take care of yourself before you get hurt!" Bruce could almost see worry etched in Clark's features, but he quickly nipped that thought in the bud. Clark wouldn't be worried over him of all people, they were colleagues.

"I don't care if I get hurt, Clark."

"Well, _I _do," he said, looking into Bruce's eyes, his own blue orbs full with sincerity. "You're my friend, Bruce, and I really don't want to see you run yourself into the dirt."

"I won't," he insisted. "I'm far too stubborn for that."

"So you admit you're stubborn!" came a voice from the entrance of the Batcave. They turned to see Alfred standing there, a duster in his hand.

"No, just determined," he quickly denied.

"You just said stubborn though," Clark pointed out.

"You two are imagining things. I said determined."

"No, I'm pretty sure you said—"

"I know what I said." Bruce glared Clark into silence.

"I know what I heard," Alfred piped up.

Bruce ignored him. If anyone was stubborn, it had to be Alfred. He never let anything go.

"_Anyway_, I'm going to go back to monitoring." He shot Clark a glance. "Well? Aren't you going to plug it in?"

Clark looked down at the cord in his hand. "No," he decided. "You're going to rest."

"Now you sound like Alfred. Or a mother hen. Which, essentially, is the same thing."

"I resent that!" came the reply from across the cave.

Both men ignored him. Clark raised an eyebrow. "Do I have to call Diana?"

That got Bruce's attention, though he didn't show it. No way did he want to have a run-in with Diana; she was probably more stubborn than him. However, he wasn't about to let Clark know he was slightly wary of Diana.

Instead, he snorted. "What for?"

"I figure she's the only one who'll convince you to get some rest, even if she has to knock you unconscious first," Clark explained. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts till he reached Diana's name. His finger hovered over the 'send' button. "Well? Should I call her?"

Bruce growled. "Fine! I'll go rest! If it'll get you off my case, fine!" He proceeded to hobble his way towards the Batcave entrance. Clark flew over to him and began to take his arm to help support his weight, but Bruce snarled.

"No! I'll do it!"

"I'm just helping—"

"Don't!"

Clark relented. He followed Bruce up the stairs and made sure he made it to the couch okay in the family room.

Bruce scowled at the thought of a helper. He could make it to his own couch just fine, thank you very much.

"See? I'm sitting and I'm resting. You can leave."

A thoughtful expression crossed Clark's face. "No, I don't think I'll be leaving yet. I want to make sure you stay here."

"That's what Alfred's for."

"He's cleaning and can't watch you all the time. I have nothing better to do, so," he smiled a friendly grin.

Bruce groaned. Great, just what he needed—a boy scout for a babysitter.

Honestly. Did anyone realize he was an adult?

"Fine," Bruce snapped. "Fine, if we're going to sit here, than I have a question for you."

"What?" Clark asked happily. He seemed relieved Bruce wasn't fighting him on being his 'babysitter' as Bruce dubbed it in his mind.

Bruce gave him a feral grin, promising slow torture in Clark's near future if he answered the question incorrectly.

"What happened to my custom-made chair made from the African Blackwood tree?"

He watched with delight when Clark's face lost a little color, showing he did in fact know what happened to it.

_This should be interesting._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The chair comment at the end was from chapter one of "The Adventures of Superman and Batman" by SexyAscot, which is a companion fic to this story. **

**P.S. To any of those who are waiting for an update on my other story, Memories: it'll happen. Sometime. I've lost my muse, but it'll come back. I hope.**


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